Roane's Story
by Forwraith
Summary: A Druid tells a poor family his story- a story involving his travels as a druid, his service under the Priest Jaina Proudmoore, and of his brother's death- and revival under the Lich King.
1. Chapter 1

It was a cold, wet night.

A family in a single cabin was making preparations for dinner, as they always did. Calmly, a mother and her daughter set the table, and filled it with meager foods, but today with a special treat—A young rooster that was roasted over the open fire recently. A man and his son were in a separate room, changing from their wet clothes, to a warmer, new set for dinner.

In the distance, the slow, staggered steps of a stranger was sloshing in the mud.

As the family sat down, none of them noticed glowing, yellow eyes coming towards their house, slowly, but surely. They were already eating before they heard a steady, heavy hand knock on the door.

None of them were sure that they would make it through the night as the third knock rang.

"Who should get the door?" whispered the mother. She was heavy with child, with blonde hair, and a worried look constantly on her face.

The father, a stronger, brown-headed farmer, stood up as three more knocks rang through the house. Giving a look to his precious wife, he started towards the door, with a dagger in hand. As he reached for the door handle, a strong voice called in common tongue, "Is anyone there?"

The father froze up, but summoned the courage he had to wrestle down a troll, and opened the door. There, in tattered, wet armor, stood a night elf. The elf was leaning heavily on a staff, and had blood dripping from a wound on his cheek. A hungry, purple face looked down onto the poor farmer, breathing heavily.

"Hello, stranger," the father said, breaking the ice. "Is there anything you need from this poor establishment?" he asked.

The elf did not answer, but fell to his knees. "Thank Elune," he said, as he pulled out a small purse from his belt. "I wish accomodations for sleep and rest," the elf said. "I am…" he stopped midsentence, and fell to the floor, exhausted.

"Cen!" the father yelled to his son. "Help me with this man—he seems injured."

The young boy named Cen rushed quickly to help his father, and saw the elf collapsed on the floor. His mother and sister quickly followed him, staring at the stranger. "He needs aid," the mother said, quickly fetching an old first aid kit she kept for injuries on the farm.

Cen and his father lifted the man up and placed him in a chair a bit too small for a night elf, and quickly began to strip the stranger of his armor. The mother and daughter came in soon after, holding bandages, antivenoms, and aids of the sort.

"Nania, this is not a sight for you to see," the father said to his daughter, stripping the elf of his shirt.

"I'm sixteen, father; I can help," Nania said to her father as she started dressing the elf's wounds with clean bandages.

Just then, the elf moved, and his eyes blinked his eyes. He looked at the father, who was dressing a wound on the elf's arm. The elf's lips moved slightly, as if he were talking.

"What is it, stranger?" the father asked, but the elf ignored the father and began to mutter.

"It's Darnassian," Nania said. "I heard some people talking about elves and their languages in town earlier this week."

Continuing, the elf rose and continued to mutter. Pulling off the bandages, the elf let his hand hover over all his wounds, and slowly, they began to disappear. The family stood back, watching the elf as his concentration went from each wound, healing them as his hand passed over them. Finally, the elf's work was done, and his attention went to the family. "I require soup. I will pay for anything you offer," he said, reaching for his purse, but not finding it. The elf's eyes looked dumbfounded. "Where is my purse?" he muttered, looking for his belt.

Slowly, the father walked to the threshold of the doorframe, and pulled up the small bag that the elf had dropped on the floor. "I think this is it," the father said, handing it to the elf.

The elf nodded, and pulled out a few coins. "I hope this will pay for any soup that you waste on me," he said.

The mother shook her head. "We have no soup for you, sir. We have a bit of peas, bread, and a little wine for your consumption, though."

The elf shook his head. "I will consume none of that, if you will. I'd prefer not to take from your rations," he said to the mother. Going to a small bag he had on the ground, next to the rest of his armor, he pulled out a small vial with a blue liquid in it. Drinking it, the elf's eyes seemed to recover some lost glow and his muscles tightened with energy. The elf sat once more in the chair, only to find it somewhat uncomfortable, and sat on the ground instead. He sighed, and relaxed. "Now, I would be pleased to know your names," he said, taking out his ponytail in his long, blue hair.

The father spoke up first. "I am Dean, son of Welliam. My wife, Rebecca, my son Cen, and my daughter Nania," he said, motioning to each of his family members. "And you are?"

The elf looked at Dean, as if he had forgotten his own name. Finally, the elf said, "I am Roane. I am a lonely traveler on the road looking for something I have lost. That is all you should know about me right now. Nothing more, nothing less." The elf got up, only to fall down again. Roane groaned, and leaned back on his hands. "Damn," he muttered, and sighed.

Rebecca shuffled in place. "Um, sir. We would be honored if you joined us for dinner. It's getting cold, and we would enjoy someone as yourself to accompany us, seeing that the night is too travel."

Roane nodded. "Though I find it perfect for travelling, I am too weak. I will join you," he said. As the family cleared the room, Roane looked off to the North. Somewhere… out there… his brother was alive.


	2. Chapter 2

Cen woke up early the next morning and began to work on his chores. The last night, the elf, Roane, had said nothing about his life, besides his name. Cen knew that the elf was not any sort of warrior; he carried a staff and no blade besides a small dagger on his belt, so the elf would be something besides that.

Carefully, he milked the family's cow and spread grain for their hens. The hens cackled greedily as they pecked at the simple pieces of wheat. Cen laughed gently. He watched as his little favorite hen that he named Flitty scurry around for a chance at each piece of grain. He heard a gentle laughter from behind him, and turned quickly in surprise.

"No need to be afraid," Roane told Cen gently. "I'm only watching myself." The elf picked up a little white hen and held it close. "Shh…" the tall elf muttered to the clucking and confused chicken. "No need to fight," he told her. Slowly, the elf felt its feathers for something unknown to Cen, and plucked gently. The hen clucked, and scuttled away when Roane lowered it back to the ground.

"Healthy hen," he said to Cen. "Strong, and a good layer of eggs. Has many good years on it yet."

Cen nodded. "Aye," he said, and motioning to the hen, "She's one of our strongest; she's near the top of the pecking order. How did you know this? Do you raise chickens in… where ever you come from?"

"No," Roane answered.

Cen opened his mouth to speak, but closed it quickly. The elf was studying the rest of the hens, it seemed, but as Cen looked deeper, he found that he was looking beyond the chickens, as if he were thinking. Roane soon focused back into the real world, and pursed his lips.

"When do the others wake?" he asked, eyes still staring at the ground.

"They should be waking just about now," said Cen. "Ma usually is cooking right now, Nania is sewing most of the time, and father is sitting at the table still waking up."

The elf nodded, and started towards the house. Cen followed, interesting to see the events unfold, and to know what the elf was going to do. As predicted, Dean was sitting at his spot at the table, and Rebecca was cooking some fresh eggs for Cen and Dean, though Nania was nowhere to be found. Roane stepped in, eyes hard as stone, with Cen following closely behind. The family turned to look at Roane, curious of what he was doing.

"It is time that I leave," said the elf quite plainly, and he marched out the door. Cen stood, dumbfounded. Dean and Rebecca slowly turned back to what they were doing, leaving Cen standing in the doorway, eyes wide open. When he gained his senses, the boy quickly ran out the door to find the elf, but Roane had disappeared.

By noon, Cen had returned to his normal work in the field with his father, plowing fields and sowing seeds for the harvest in the upcoming months. They sang songs, as usual, for they had forgotten about Roane almost completely, for they regarded him as yet another traveler. Cen still thought silently, wondering about the elf's mysterious quest the elf was working on. The bull leading the plow moaned in great tiredness, and Dean nodded.

"I think you're right; it's time we had a break," he said, letting go of the plow and sitting down, resting his calloused hands. He laughed as he said to Cen, "Bull's getting old. We might need a new one sometime soon."

Cen laughed gently, still thinking about the elf. "Father," said Cen gently, "What do you think the elf was out to do? He looked quite wounded last night… do you think he's fighting a Horde encampment somewhere close?"

Dean shrugged his strong shoulders. "If there were a Horde encampment nearby, don't you think they would have enlisted me earlier than now, Cen?"

The young boy shrugged his shoulders. He was still thirteen; no military would ever risk sacrificing him in war, but his father was still strong; it was no doubt they would use him in battle. Cen sighed, and said, "I think he's had a little too many battles in his lifetime, don't you think?"

Dean nodded. "There are men like that in this world, Cen. Men who have seen enough blood for ten men and they suffer through that. They are strong, but they are bloodthirsty as well. The elf was probably on a quest for blood and for vengeance, which is why he gave no information on where he was going. He was probably a criminal of the elves as well. I suggest you forget him."

Cen nodded slowly, still thinking about the elf but not bringing him up again. The two worked until sundown, and slowly trudged home, tired as could be. As they got close, they saw Rebecca stumbling out the door, and two tall people shoving her along. "Hurry up, wench!" said one of the men. Dean began to growl angrily as he drew a knife from his boot and mounted his bull.

"No one calls my wife a wench," said the man as he urged his bull on. The bull moaned, and began to drag itself to the scene, but Dean slapped it again to get it moving faster, and a little angry.

Cen, knowing he wouldn't be any help on hand to hand combat, stayed low and in the grass, searching for any sort of weapon such as a pitchfork to aide him in attacking these cretins, and watched slowly.

As Dean rode close, the two men—rather, as Cen looked closer, he noticed one was a draenei and the other was a troll—they stopped torturing his mother and turned to the man on the bull.

"Need anything, peasant?" the Draenei said coldly. His entire voice was a dead ice, and his eyes were a frost blue. Cen had never seen anything like that.

"Back away from my wife, cretins," Dean said bravely. Cen's heart sank in his stomach. Though his father was strong, he knew he would be no match for either of these warriors. They were armored to the teeth with cold metal armor and both carried strange blue swords.

The two men laughed hysterically. Dean remained still on his bull, trying to intimidate the two warriors. "What would you do if we didn't?" the troll asked with the same voice that the draenei had. Dean remained still on his bull not saying anything.

No one noticed a shadow of a bird flying overhead.

The two warriors laughed again, and said to the farmer, "What we would do if you tried to stop us, farmer, is rip you limb from limb. Slowly. Painfully. We would enjoy it very much," the Troll said. "But, we would do this first." He raised his hand and placed it on Rebecca's head. Cen watched as his mother turned a strange blue, then fell over limp, sprawled on the ground. Cen felt his breath stop.

"Rebecca!" Dean shouted as he jumped off the bull, brandishing his small dagger. Cen rushed from the bushes, clenching his fists because of his lack of weapon. Dean lunged at the two powerful warriors and was quickly dismissed from his weapon. The two warriors laughed again as one of them stepped forward.

"My turn," Cen heard the warrior say as he got close. The Draenei drew his own weapon from his back, and raised it to Dean's neck.

"No!" Cen shouted as he tackled the Draenei. He curled his fists and began pummeling him with a series of punishes. Cen felt himself being pulled backwards, as if by a cold, dark hand and into the arms of the troll.

"Ah, he has little ones," the troll said. "Perhaps the one we slaughtered on the road was one of theirs."

"Nania!" Dean shouted. Cen saw his father pick up his dagger and lunge again at the Draenei, catching the blue cretin on the arm. The Draenei grunted, and punched Dean with much force in the gut, making the farmer double over and vomit on the ground.

"Bad choice," said the Draenei as he raised his sword over his head to strike. Cen closed his eyes.

"Watch your father die, boy!" the troll said as the sword came down.

Though Cen was not looking, he heard many things in the next few seconds. He heard the cry of a strange bird, then a roar of a large cat, and the yell as the Draenei was tackled by a powerful force. He heard the scuffle of feet, and heavy bodies fall on the ground. Before he opened his eyes, the last thing he heard was the troll grunt, and felt the grip on him loosen up. When he fell to the ground, he ran as quickly as he could back into the bushes. When he looked back at the scene, he saw the two warriors on the ground, picking themselves up slowly, his father on the ground in a sitting position, and a tall, long eared, purple figure with leather armor standing in the middle. Cen gasped.

It was Roane.


End file.
